


Momentary Memories

by FarFlungDreamer



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2019-11-21 18:01:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18145568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FarFlungDreamer/pseuds/FarFlungDreamer
Summary: A peak into the memories jotted down in hasty writing, in a certain red notebook book that James Bucky Barnes carries around with him as a lifeline to a man he's trying desperately to get back to. A collection of one-shots, memories resurfacing as Bucky tries to remember who he was and figure out who he is now.





	1. Fort LeHigh

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! So this is a collection of one-shots, but, the first two 'chapters' are a lead up of sorts to them. After these first two the narrative of each one-shot will be completely contained to within the memory that Bucky has in his notebook. I think it's more interesting to read that way, living it like he did. 
> 
> Let me know what you think and please send me requests for any certain memories or prompts you have! I've got a few already written, but mostly plan to update it whenever some come to me. But I'll try and write any requested prompt sent my way.

Rubble.

He stood just past the bent gates, blown out by an impact - aerial missile from the looks of it- where he could see in his mind’s eye a variety of signs. Fort LeHigh… completely destroyed, as he stood under the graying clouds.

He let out a harsh hiss, as his head began to pound again. Constant… it was constant.

It was all gone. Of course it was. Some broken memory lead him here, triggered by some words in a museum. So of course, if it had been true, there was nothing but debris left.

He crushed a stray rock under his boot, frustrated as he walked past the entrance. This was supposed to lead him to answers. He **needed** them.

He scowled lightly as he walked across the uneven ground, he wouldn’t be able to figure anything out from all this. He remembered… now, two targets, not eliminated by the previous team. Sloppy, he’d thought then, to use a missile. No way to confirm, far too flashy. Then he’d been sent int, where they’d been seen next taking a hostage in DC.

 _Steve_ . Steve and his cohorts. Well what good did it do him, that Steve had been here. Of course he had. It didn’t bring anything back to him now. It was just bitter irony that it was _him_ in parts that destroyed his own answers. He paused to wonder if that was always how it was going to be.  No. He couldn’t let himself start thinking that, he had no option that let him think like that. Now, he could feel it. He could feel that part of him that was empty, and he knew nothing else now. Everywhere he turned, it was something he knew he should know, but he didn’t… or it was the flashes. Quick, almost indistinguishable flashes of lives. Lives he’d taken, lives he’d destroyed, a life that had been his…

Pain filled flashes triggered by anything, it seemed, didn’t _tell_ him anything, though. The museum wasn’t enough. The day he spent on a library computer, wasn’t enough. The history book wasn’t enough. Those were just words… pictures… facts… he needed something solid to sort out the mess of voice and faces. He had to find a way to grab a hold of the jagged shards in his head. Had to make sense of them. He had to. He had to… or he’d go crazy.

He hadn’t needed anything more than ownership, while staring at his face on those memorials, watching himself interact with that man… with Steve. He’d watched those footage rolls for an hour, trying… he tried _so hard_ to be there. But he couldn’t connect to it, he  just continued to watch, detached as his body laughed in front of him. It was in _that_ moment he could feel this emptiness in his mind, when he reached for that moment… because he could see it, and there was nothing. It had always been this way, though, there had always been nothing to reach for and it had never been noticed… now… now it felt like a gaping hole, trying to eat him alive. He could see this man on the screen, a man he used to be, and he could feel how devastating it was that he wasn’t that. That he could barely remember it… oh but he was so close to it. Waking up in sweats from dreams, staggering in the middle of a crowded street as a smell from a vendor triggered something, or a model train made him drop to his knees from the terrible pain in his head. It was threatening to tear his mind to pieces, he couldn’t ignore it, not since the moment he dropped down from that burning ship.

It played behind his eyes, still, that voice echoing around the shake of the ships guns firing ahead, explosions of it being impacted with close range fire… what started all of it... _‘I’m with you, until the end of the line…’_

Steve… it was just a name… just a face, beaten and bloody from his fist… yielding in a fight for the first time… because of him… why did that hurt so much? He had no idea, couldn’t find a reason, but he felt it in his gut, the pain of it.   _The end of the line…_ a little scrawny, hopeless, brave kid standing in front of him, in his mind… and then it all crumbled away. Beams fell, explosions overhead and metal groaning its final defeats… and the man was falling…

His target was falling, would die, drown… mission complete…. But it _wasn’t_ his target that he watched falling lifelessly through the air. It was _Steve_ … and he didn’t know who that was… but he _knew_ him… and the Winter Soldier knew nothing of anybody. Until then. Until that man took off his helmet and cracked whatever they had holding all this back in his mind.

He had captured a beam with his metal arm, keeping him clinging in the air. He remembered _falling…_ the icy air whipping around his face… him… that man, Steve… arm stretched out trying to grab him as he flailed and suddenly, the Soldier felt new emotion creep over him… he remembered fear. He could hear it again, now… not Steve screaming… not Bucky… but the air, whipping violently in his ears. Only his heartbeat could be heard over it. That felt real.

_‘The thing is… you don’t have to. I’m with you to the end of the line pal.’_

He could see the shorter man… and he didn’t look like this Captain America, falling below him… but he looked a lot like Steve. He stared down as this man-he-knew’s body got closer and closer… and he let go, and dived down to grab him. He couldn’t let him drown. He knew him and he wasn’t sure what, but he knew it meant something important.

He slipped on one of the bits of crumbled cement under his feet, blinking away the memory of what woke him up. He wasn’t in the water pulling Steve out with himself with his injured arm. No, he was in this destroyed camp, his hands clammy and his forehead sweating.

He shook the memories trying to crawl over him, they weren’t what he was searching for. He didn’t want to remember dying… he didn’t want to remember fighting his target and failing, he couldn’t even remember why Steve was important. ‘Best friends since childhood…’ those were the facts. Too bad he couldn’t _remember_ more than a moment. He couldn’t see more than a garbled mess.

Frustrated at another failure he searched for anything else that could help. So far, nothing… just another bitter disappointment. Anger started to turn him cold again, all he really wanted was to destroy them all. Go end them for what they’d taken from him… but he always realized that he didn’t know what they’d done to him. Not really, only what textbooks and history video’s told him he ought to have thought. Being told what he should be thinking wasn’t enough anymore.

Problem was, there wasn’t a whole lot left of 1942. Clearly, as he wandered further through the base, past the point of contact where the ground was caved in. He wandered past the blast radius, starting up a job as he realized there were actually the dim outline of buildings appearing from the dark night and the very dim light from the moon. They were there, he realized with a pit of hope in his chest, as he got closer. Two rows of buildings still standing on the farthest end of the camp. Houses, all in a row, matching all the rest. Worn, forgotten, their paint peeled and a few roofs sagging, but untouched by the explosion.

“MPH…” Military privatized housing. For families… or a married couple, not single men. He slid his glove off before setting his bare hand on the trim of one, his hand rubbing off the stiff, cracked paint from decades of disuse. Families…

_“Come on James, time for supper.”_

_“It’s Bucky!”_

_“Say again, son?”_

_“It’s short for Buchanon! That’s what the men around the barracks took a shining too.”_

_“Well far as I’m concerned, I’ll keep to your God given name. Now wash for supper James and what has your mother told you about wandering off on base.”_

He took in a deep breath, the flash of memory making his head clench... aching and pressing in on him.  Words, thoughts, a firm voice dancing above him but out of reach. _'Bucky?'_ He glanced away, the name was shouting in his head now, a thousand different voices right after the other.

He sucked in for breath, finding it all used up, he kept trying to pull in more but he couldn't... that was... was him... he tumbled forward and gripped the lip of the building, peering around the housing community. When he was a boy… when his father was stationed here… and had his family moved here… from… he didn’t know where. Idaho, the history book supplied him. Idaho… his mind flashed to the deep, never ending starry skies there, that he’d missed so much after they moved from here to Brooklyn….

Brooklyn… Steve… that’s where he met Steve, yeah, when they were young, at school. He shook his head, trying not to steady his breathing to fight through the pain. But it was good pain… whenever they came. Memories, more than he could untangle from the waterfall of voices and fractured images flashing through him and being only partially remembered, brought pain. The more he remembered, the worse, agonizing pain, trying to shove a wrong peg through a hole, making a vice out of his head.

It was always towards the past, towards memories he couldn't hold onto. He managed to straighten himself as the tirade ended, but he felt weak and he stumbled past a few of the houses and drop to the singed grass. He pulled his knees up to rest his arms on, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes, his fingers grasping at strands of hair as he tried to stop the pressure building in the front of his brain.

He was raised here, his father was a career military man, George Barnes… _no_ , Pops… they moved to Brooklyn when his mother died… to be closer to his Aunt Ida… and he’d felt so much apart of the men’s lives here. He remembered the privates would sneak him stuff his Pops would have turned red from if he knew. Had his first cigarette behind the barracks. That was all before, before he was so angry at the world, when Mama died…

Sweat was trickling down his fingertips and he leaned in harder on he knees trying to anchor himself. James Buchanan Barnes… he enlisted… and Steve was hurt. He could tell… he wanted to help more than anything. James couldn't not, that’s what his family had been. Those were the men he grew up around until he was ten. It was certainly what his Father expected… he hadn’t really wanted it… but it was familiar, and it was what was right. He always did whatever he could figure was right, otherwise what kind of man was he?

“AAAAIIIIEEEEEE” His tortured scream echoed through the dead air around the tattered buildings, unheard by anything but the skeleton’s. James Buchanan Barnes… that’s who he was. He knew the rest from the museum, he fought alongside Steve and the Commando’s and they did their best to wipe those filthy Hydra bastards off the face of the planet. To stop the horrors they continued to see throughout the war front. All that evil, all the pain, all the good soldiers on both sides he watched die in agony or in vain...

He’d spent his whole life, Bucky’s whole life, fighting the people he called ‘sir’ for the last… how long… his whole life? But now, it wasn’t. There was an entire life before it. Bucky shuddered, fingers loosening their hold as he felt a wash of hopelessness.

“No… no... “ He gasped, shaking his head in his hands sorrowfully. It just… couldn’t be. He couldn’t be this thing… he couldn’t be James Barnes… he couldn’t be the Winter Solder. He couldn’t be both… the two hated each other so entirely… they fought to their core for different things. But it didn’t matter, did it? No. He couldn’t undo it. He suddenly realized. How could he… all those innocent people.

  
Why didn’t he… why didn’t he stop him? Steve should have **_killed_ **him. All those innocent people… someone had gone in his head and tampered with his brain… and he felt sick. It was sick… he’d killed all those people… and suddenly they all meant something. Bucky threw himself over his knees suddenly as he started retching on the ground where Fort LeHigh once stood.


	2. Bucharest

_ His fists beat hard into the guard’s face, just blood and flesh. James kept beating him even after he felt his own fist start to bleed and after the guard stopped fighting back. One of the his guys shouted and tugged him back off the guard. _

_ “The door’s more important Sergeant!” _

_ “Yeah,”  _ _ He spit roughly, and threw the guy back to the ground before digging for his keys…  _ _ “Gottem,” _ _ He threw them to Dugan who fumbled with the lock. _

_ “Jones, let’s move it,” _ _ Dugan called as the door swung open. A swell of excitement and adrenaline flooded James’ chest as they rushed to the cell’s opening. If they could get out… this was their only shot. They were so deep in enemy lines… and it had been too long to hope that anybody was coming to their rescue. They’d be just another casualty of war. The army they fought for didn't care about their safety over winning the war. If they didn’t get the hell out of here… well they had to get out. Simple as that. _

_ They made it outside of the cell and down the large space with only more cells and catwalks above. But their grand escape didn’t last longer than a minute before they were surrounded by guards. The ones with the crazy weapons, and there was just no fighting against those things. James tried to fight his way out of it anyways, but… it didn’t work. They all got walked back; worse for the wear, back to the cages. Back to being damned. Back to guards staring down at them through the bars from their catwalks. _

_ James’ temper spilled, pulse pounding away in his ears and he got his hands on the first guard he could. Maybe they could still make it out. Overthrow them before they fired. Something! In a brash decision he jumped the nearest guard, fighting with him for his gun. They struggled before another guard got up behind him and knocked him over the head with the but of a gun. _

_ James groaned, but was forced down to his knees. _

_ “This one is strong…”  _ _ Some Nazi was talking in the background... but through the blow to the head, he could only focus on the strangest detail, a red bow on his collar. " _ _ Take him to isolation.” _

_ “No!” _ _ He heard Dugan shout, but it sounded muted. _   


_ Somewhere past his aching head he knew that nobody that had gone to isolation had made it back out… and all they heard were the screams coming from those corridors to tell them if their fellow soldiers were still alive. Dugan struggled to get to him as they dragged him off, but James passed out soon enough, only seeing a room full of medical tables before he lost consciousness. _

 

Bucky shook himself out of the half formed, murky memory. As was his ritual he rolled off the mattress propped on the floor of his apartment and towards the loose floorboard. After working it up, he pulled out his bag and the small journal zipped inside it. 

He didn't move until he’d jotted down the jist of the memory. The day he got taken to isolation… the very first time- he believed anyways- he got a taste of the Nazi… no, he’d thought then it was the Nazi’s, but it was really Red Skull’s Hydra’s scientist. It was the first taste of the torture he’d gotten… a half rated attempt at brainwashing. It hadn’t worked… he’d hung on… not died, not broken… just… waited…. for it all to end at one point. But he had a hard time remembering who came next… or should it be what? No… a who… someone saved him from the isolation ward… saved all of them.

Steve?

He glanced down at his little book with a sigh. Who knew. It was probable, it all seemed to come back to Steve Rogers. Who he’d read every book he could find, every internet database, visited every memorial before he’d taken to overseas.

Bucky was in Romania now. He remembered enough… enough to know who Bucky was… but it was a lot harder to reconcile who was the real man in him. Bucky -James Barnes -Steve’s friend, hard fighting soldier, brash and short tempered, Brooklyn raised… or was it the Winter Solider… was that who he was now? Was it the no hesitation killer, good tactician, bound by orders, born from the cold and from mind numbing pain, cold, calculating and sometimes vicious… Which was he?

He flipped through the little book, tabs and marks all a tribute to him trying to find the answer to that one question. 

He still hadn’t pieced it together. Bucky groaned unhappily and sealed up his book and bag back into the floorboard. Enough of this. He needed to get out… the walls seemed to be closing in on him. Besides… he was out of plums again… he started eating them because they’d been an old remedy for memory loss in the elderly, at least back then. It was hard to differentiate sometimes what was then and what was now, stuck in here with only old, moth eaten memories. 

Bucky supposed he was the elderly… but he didn’t know if the fruit worked or not. He kept eating them anyways. Maybe it was some sort of comfort. He looked around the kitchen and found he needed bread and some more of those nutrition bars. The red ones with the nuts were the root of most of the protein in his diet. He’d better get them. It was a course of action that purpose that needed doing, and sometimes that soothed him more than the homey feeling of the fresh fruit stands.

He grabbed his gloves off the island and slipped them on, hiding the silver fist. He slowly cleared his head as he walked down the hallway. It was a nice walk to the plum stand, the weather was good and he thanked the familiar old woman when she handed over his bag. He allowed himself this one routine, because they were the freshest and she reminded him of home. Whatever that was… he just knew the feeling.

“Bună ziua, (good day)” He muttered in one of the many languages he knew, with a half smile to her before he made his way deeper into the market towards the breads. He just needed one loaf and then he’d get back to the apartment. As much as he’d needed the air to clear his head… he also didn’t like to be out in the open too long.  Still, he felt like someone was watching him. Then again... he always felt that way, looking over his shoulder, paranoid he'd been discovered by Hyrda... or even Steve. Bucky couldn't face either right now and he couldn't decide which would be worse, honestly. Then again, if he could decide that, he’d be able to figure out who he was. 

He’d stayed in Bucharest too long already… but something about it sat right with him, so he wanted to stay a bit longer. Not much, he wouldn't get stupid but... just a bit more. It seemed to be relaxing enough for him to really concentrate on the memories. At least he was remembering more than the nightmares in the last few weeks. So he'd stay just a few more. Try and sort out more of the memories and make them mean something.


	3. Kreischberg

His breath came heavily as he tried to quietly pull at the thick cuffs that had him tied to the table in isolation. This was the perfect time... if he could get out of these damned things, he had the best vantage point to go free the others. It was lunacy... all this, his troop was starving along with him, wasted away until they got brought here. For some sort of torture, he didn't know what or why, just that this guy was fucking crumb bums. They wouldn't expect somebody to get out of their isolation ward, especially with how that German-Swedish, whatever, clearly the lead scientists thought it wasn't possible when he left Bucky alone more times than not.

 

He shook his wrists again, trying to get a little leeway. If he could just slip his wrists enough.... but twenty minutes later all he got for it were bruised wrists. Bucky let out an even breath, eyes darting around determinedly for something he could use. Something... something! There had to be something in this dump. Some way to get out of it, he wasn't going to die here dammit! He didn't join the war just to die in some Nazi torture division!

 

"I'm not dyin' here," he told himself.

 

Bucky gave a last, frustrated jerk, to the binds when he paused, hearing the clatter of footsteps down a corridor. German hit his ears, and Lord did he wish he could speak the language at least a little. His eyes darted to each of them, to what was in their hands as they all came into the room in low voices. He felt like seeing it gave him some sort of control, like he could use this to his advantage.

 

Bucky just couldn't focus on the fact that he was at their complete mercy. That he could do nothing, and had no control over any of it. Instead he put on a determined scowl and watched as three men set up some sort of vials and pulled out syringes. His stomach took a leap off the bridge as he wondered why the hell they had all this crap...

 

He swallowed thickly, fear creeping into his bravado. Bucky's eyes raced and he kept quietly pulling at the bonds. Maybe with enough strength they could loosen... it was during this that he saw his opportunity. Maybe it was pointless, maybe it was the fear, but when one of the men carelessly got too close to his wrists he reached out and grabbed ahold of the syringe held loosely in his hand.  


The man shouted something in German and Bucky did his best with his makeshift weapon. But he ought to have known that with his wrists tied down, he couldn't do much but stab the one guy. A soldier came in and knocked him over the head.

...  


He woke up to the sound of whimpering. More German muttering and his eyes flew open as he came to. It was to his pure horror that the guy, the man he'd gotten with the syringe, was laid up on a table, having some sort of fit. James swallowed, eyes jumping around to see the equipment all set up, and all less than a foot around the table he was strapped to.

 

Bucky took in a deep breath again and then tried to pull against the binds one more time. His shoulders pressed painfully into the table as he tried to pull all his strength against them but it didn’t yield.

 

"My, my," A differently accented voice came to him as he watched the man. "You really are the persistent one." The lead scientist, the one who had him brought here with the glasses suddenly stepped into his view. "I suppose I know now that he was not strong enough."

 

The man moved around and he scowled. So what, Bucky wasn't too surprised to find out he had as much compassion for his own men as he did the Allied prisoners. All the worst luck for him. His eyes kept jumping to the man, who after another ten minutes had let out a rattling scream. It sunk in his bones and made Bucky shiver. That stuff had been meant for him.

 

"What do ya want?" He snapped, trying to stall as he saw the man fiddle less.  


"What does every man strive for? Success, of course!" The scientist said with a flourish to his voice. The man on the other table suddenly screamed something in German and the other two clustered around him. One held his arm down, the other wrote notes on a pad. It interested the scientist with the glasses who stopped what he was doing near James and went to his fellow. He twisted his head around, eyes scanning over everything, desperate to find a way out of this in the nick of time....

 

But he didn't and with low 'tsks' the scientist came back. He couldn’t see between the scientists… but he’d seen enough in his short time in war to know what a man’s last breathes sounded like...

 

"Well. Another failure, another too weak, or it may be the serum. Fortunately, we have tweaked it since, again. " The bastard sighed and looked down over James suddenly. He reached out and James jerked his head away. The scientist only chuckled contritely and reached into James' shirt. He tugged out the dog tags hanging around his neck and scanned them. "James Barnes, is it? Well, shall we see if all your shows of strength can help you more than your fellow soldiers, Sergeant Barnes?"

 

"Getta away from me!" He roared, to which he received an amused chuckle.

 

"Oh but we have barely begun!"  


His breathing grew louder and louder, as the man dropped his dog tags back to his chest. As his captor picked up one of the syringes with a serious set to the eyes behind the glasses, Buck could hear the dog tags too loud, clanging like a final bell against themselves before they rattled a last time against the chain and went silent against his chest. None of his desperate tries to free himself changed how close the gloved hand was getting to him. Bucky let out an enraged shout as the needle dug quickly under his skin.


	4. Azzano/Kreischberg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorty, but next weeks will make up for it. I have roughly twenty prompts mostly written out and I'll be posting them every Sunday night, as best as I can! So drop me a comment, or give me a prompt to work out some more to keep them coming!
> 
> Also, lots of foul language in this chapter, because James Barnes has a notorious potty mouth.

_Bullets dropped around him like the rain that pelted their faces and drummed on the helmets. There were screams coming from the German side, they had been in a stand still with. So someone on their side, or reinforcements had come in and that meant it was time to move. Time to face the other soldiers, and perhaps their makers._

 

_"Get back to Bravo!" Bucky screamed hoarsely over the deafening noises of battle._

 

_He reached up, his fingers slipping on netting, and hastily pulled the round green helmet down further. He tightened the strap around his chin too and gripped the slick gun close to his chest. He glanced to the two muddied men at either side of them._

 

_With a deep breath and a prayer, James nodded solemnly to the men he'd been serving with and they nodded back just as grim. Then James tumbled up out of the trench they'd been pinned in for days with the other men in the 107th. They slid across the dirt and mud, scrambling for a safe perch from the assault the Germans had pinned them with, and not all of the 107th felt the relief of their boots slapping into the water drenched trench on the other side._

Bucky's chest jumped up off the table from the sudden spasms in his body pulling him back to consciousness. He could only feel a shuddering gasp in his chest before it all hit him. What he'd lost his view of the world from in the first place. He was back in hell again. It was all pain, pain and restrained jerks as his body fought him from within. He grunted, pressing his tongue down against the bottom of his mouth to suppress the screams trying to escape him. He wasn't going to fucking scream... he wouldn't let them have the satisfaction. They might kill him, but he wasn't gonna let them kill him as his screams forced the terrified soldier's below this floor to work harder for them, spurred on by the pained screams of their fellows. Bucky would bite his fucking tongue off first. The self righteous thoughts were cut short as suddenly he could feel the flushing through the pain of his cramping muscles. Bucky could feel every muscle. Every muscle he had no idea was there, in the bottom of his throat he could feel sharp pains constricting his breath, his shoulders and under his arms had a thousand needles dragging in and out... his legs were charlie horsing, locked so tight the muscles were popping out of place, stuck.

  
The pain started to be engulfed in the heat. Bucky was suddenly on fire... he'd never been burning this badly in his entire life. He felt like he was being burned, but there were no flames near him. Water... he needed something to drink...

 

"He's responding."

 

"Interesting. Sergeant Barnes."

 

Panting, a voice he hated, hated with every lick of life in him, forced his attention upward as a light was shined in his eyes. He squinted away and gloved hands jerked his eyelids open roughly, the light blinding him again. It was almost a relieving distraction from the way his stomach was stabbing against his other organs, twisting up inside.

 

“Oh Sergeant," The light disappeared and he could see that fucking bastard with the glasses above him through the big circles of light still blinking in his eyes. He grunted through the pain still rattling its way through his body, but couldn't get words out. "My name is Arnim Zola, and you’ve held out longer than your counterparts.”

  
He spit, barely anything, his mouth was dry and he felt close to passing out. His _counterparts_ , good men from all the Allied countries captured, who he only knew from their echoed screams before they died up here. Well they couldn't have Bucky. “Go strai..." He gasped air in as his voice cracked and his throat stung. "Go to hell, ya fuckin Nazi bastard..." He managed to snarl throatily, through his chalky throat, but it hadn't been worth it. There was more pain spreading from his throat now and he gasped for air. No fuck that, it was worth it. He wouldn't die quiet, even if he tried to keep himself to pained grunts and groans.

  
“Actually I'm Swedish. Yet you have energy to be defiant still? Hm. Very interesting, very.” The scientist chuckled in a high pitch and James swallowed as he saw him pick up some sort of long needle filled with liquid. He could almost hear him add on, maybe he'd survive. Longer than the others they kept murmuring, and he gripped onto it, he wasn't going to leave this world like this. Under the control of these fucking pricks. He'd rather die any other way. He'd wait til he was back in those cages to leave this world, not a moment fucking sooner. Zola chuckled mockingly above him. “Not to worry, I have patience.”

 

No, no, no... not more... he didn't want more... but fuck it, could it get worse? Whatever they'd put in him already.... Bucky didn't think he was going to make it out of this... but he wasn't going to fucking die. He wouldn't let them fucking have him. 


	5. Kreischberg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This was a lot of fun when I wrote it out. Let me know what you readers think of it! : )

They had left him here alone for what felt like only minutes, but for some reason... they left him to rest. It was a trick, though, he was never allowed to sleep. Every time he tried he'd be jarred awake by some painful measure. He couldn't understand what they were saying when they weren't talking their mantra. He really needed to brush up on his German more than he had. The coats had tried doing something different, but between the physical exhaustion and lack of sleep, he had a hard time fighting them off. Even if he tried, the pain kept him conscious. Exhaustion was too strong for him to be able to do anything... or really think after all the stimulus overload they'd been doing to him. His brain hurt. James drifted during the quiet, trying to remind himself of facts. His own facts, not _theirs_. It was getting harder the longer his body stayed still. He could feel his head lull to the side and he decided it was stronger if he tried to croak it out. So Bucky murmured under his breath.

 

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the107th regiment… 325557038... Brooklyn, N.Y. ….” He repeated under his breath, repeating again and again… That’s who he was… James Buchanan Barnes... not what this freak german scientist kept repeating and repeating and repeating… hydra wanted… no, that didn't matter… he couldn't even let himself think about it while they said it, or after. Only repeat his facts. Sergeant James… 

 

His eyes trained on a point across the room, and he continued to mutter hours after the latest experiment. His body felt drained from whatever they’d injected him with. Same as before, try and look past them and repeat what his facts. But the light was gone, the one that swayed back and forth, back and forth, in jerky movements. It was gone, like the scientist was.  He could hardly breath, but he still kept at it, his voice grew weaker and weaker until he was thinking the mantra more than saying…

 

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes… of the 107…  32 .. 557 …” he continued, his voice growing hoarse. His eyes had slid closed without him realizing it. He was... so tired... so, very tired. All he wanted was to rest...  _'compliance will be rewarded'_... his heart beat faster. 

 

No. He'd never listen to that, he'd never give into these Hydra, or Nazi's, whatever they were. He couldn't rest. James just couldn't because he was James Barnes... his mother's little Jimmy. His annoying sisters' Rebecca's confidant. His Father's boy, soldiering on for the girls. He was Bucky, Steve's friend and protector... God knew he needed one. Someone to stop him from his stupid escapades. He was all that.  He couldn't give up, couldn't give in. James wouldn't let them make him something else... he had to get back home to be all these things, for all of them. Dad was dead, who was going to make sure Rebecca and the girls were okay during boarding school breaks? Aunt Ida meant well, but, she couldn't protect them, couldn't understand them like James did. Who was going to keep Steve out of fights he wasn't going to win? He didn't listen to anyone, he needed someone to give him hell to keep his reckless ass breathing.

 

So he couldn't let anyone make him anything else. He wouldn't die, either... James didn't want to die. He wasn't ready to. He just wasn't sure how long he could keep going. What was the other option? He couldn't escape, they were so far deep in enemy lines, their countries didn't care that they were here... they were all collateral. He may not have options, but James knew he wouldn't give in and he wouldn't let them kill him like the others. That just left him to get through to the next minute. He couldn't find a solution, because the clear thoughts dispersed sooner or later. He mumbled along his words, to draw strength from them when his mind grew weaker. To remind him of all that.

 

A voice drew him out of his mantra and he forced his eyes open. 

 

He stared above him, and resigned himself to more of it… more of the bright lights and the shouting. The prodding and the needles… the creaking of the light... the cold metal under him… he couldn’t really feel his body just now but he knew it had been cold. His mind drug behind him sluggishly from being forced to stay awake for who knew how long.

 

He was almost able to feel them pulling at the restraints he’d long since forgotten were there. The ones that had rubbed his wrists raw back when he tried pulling them loose for hours. He knew now it didn't work. One if the bastards shook him hard near his chest and his head lolled to the side again. It jarred him a little further from the fogginess. He blinked once… this wasn’t the same... there was no light first of all, and it wasn't how they did things.

 

“ Who … who's there…?” He slurred, finding words hard to find, and he focused in on a helmet… blue… he could almost see blue in the dark light from the moon shining into the room. It was dark, though. Was he being moved? What where they going to try now?

 

“It’s me…” James looked harder at the face in the dim. “It’s Steve.”

 

His mind stuttered. “Steve,” He said, a smile pulled at the muscles on his face oddly and he felt a wash of homesickness over him. Of the little punk back at home, waiting for him to get back from the war. Steve, who wanted to come galavant in this hellhole so God damn much… his thick headed friend who was probably still picking fights in back alleys and stuffing his shoes to pass stupid tests… if it really were Steve, that would mean he was back home already. The war would be over, he’d have survived it somehow… and he’d be back home with Steve... that would be nice. He wouldn't have to fight them off anymore. Wouldn't have to fight at all...

 

“Come on.”

 

The voice pulled his mind back, away from the fond memories of home, of his friend. He looked up and felt he was imagining it. Wait, hadn't he just been speaking? The person above him had shifted and the light was illuminating him.  “Steve?”  He muttered, letting out an amused breath. Steve couldn’t be here… but as he looked at him and he got hauled up off the metal table he could swear he did see Steve’s stupid face in front of him. That wasn’t possible… he didn’t know exactly where they’d been taken, but they were in Europe… Steve was home. Far from all this.

 

He felt disoriented as his body moved and he could feel the stiffness in his bones. Steve hadn’t left from above him. His friend's face hadn’t turned into something else, just an exhaustion induced illusion. Instead his friend clapped him on the cheek and James blinked again wildly.  His brain finally seemed to register that Steve was in front of him and they were still in the isolation ward. Steve…? What the fuck…? Had James cracked? Did the torture crack him? Had he lost? This wasn't possible...

 

“I  thought you were dead,” His friend breathed out worriedly, but he couldn’t really take in the words. He looked at Steve, trying to tell if his mind was tricking him again, taking him somewhere else besides the pain of the experiments. Maybe it was happening now and he was finally failing to keep ahead of the scientist's tricks.  It didn’t seem right, it wasn't real. Little detail were wrong... even sitting, why was Steve so tall? He used to have to set his arm on his friend's shoulders. His shoulders were so broad and yeah, it didn’t really work, did it? It wasn't real... but he could hear his voice. It was the same voice.

 

“I thought you were  smaller ,” He mumbled back, a little confused at the whole scenario going on. He could hardly keep himself awake, much less figure this out.  He stared and stared at him, balancing his arm on his friend’s and he practically begged God, to please not let this one be fake. That his friend was somehow here, rescuing him from this place. That Steve had lied his way into the army and somehow ended up with a group here to save them all from this place… just so he could get out. So it could all end. So he could rest. James was too stubborn to die and he'd never submit... but he was so fucking bone tired.

 

“Come on,” Steve said, and it was Steve, he realized. He helped Bucky adjust his grip... and as he hauled him to his feet… Bucky was starting to realize this couldn't be fake. This wasn’t his imagination. Steve was here… and he was helping him stand up. Bucky couldn’t feel his legs, and his knees buckled as soon as they stood.

 

Steve lifted him…  _**Steve** _ lifted  _**him** _ … Steve Rogers was carrying him, and huffing a ‘here goes’ as he pulled James' deadweight. Maybe this wasn't real? He tried to pick up his tangled feet to make them work, but his legs felt numb, like they were rolling waves rather than muscle. He could barely stand on his own… dammit, how tall was Steve suddenly? Could this be real?

 

It would have to be one really realistic dream. He stumbled over the step and glanced back up… no this was real. If it was a dream, or a hallucination he wouldn't be in these dark halls. He wouldn't be walking past the offices of the bastards who'd been torturing him. He'd be at home. Besides, James could hear the gunshots now. He could feel Steve holding up his weight and he could feel the pain arching across his shoulders and in his chest. This was definitely real. Which meant... well, that Steve was real. How was that physically possible, though?

 

“ Wh-What happened to you?” He pushed the words from his throat.

 

“I joined the army!” Was Steve’s doofy reply and Bucky knew this was his friend, alright. Even he couldn’t dream up that sort of dumbass answer. No one else could be so light hearted in the middle of this place either. It took another hallway, but he could finally feel his feet some. James wrapped an arm around his injured side as he struggled to stay up on his feet and not weigh Steve down. Him... him not weigh Steve down, what had happened exactly? He looked up towards Steve, and his head spun for another reason than usual.

 

They continued down the hallway and he continued his questions….


	6. Schwarzwald Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was away for the last two weeks and missed the weekly updates, but I'm going to load up a few in a row to make up for it!

"Hey!"  His friend called, a sleepy huff in his voice as he tumbled up out of his cot and towards where he was flipping through the starched papers. His mind raced back to simpler days as Steve reached to tug them out of his hands, but stopped, worried they'd rip. Steve's fingers hovered over the papers and Bucky conceded handing them over to the upset man.

 

"Sorry,"  He chuckled, not meaning it. Steve gave him a questioning pout as he rifled through the drawings.  "I guess... I just guess it seemed normal,"  He laughed nervously as he pointed to Steve's drawing. The early morning tension seemed to leak away with his admission. It was true, too.

 

"Normal," Steve shook his head, and Bucky could see a reflection of his own thoughts.  "Been awhile since that, hasn't it? Couple Hydra bases back I think."

 

"Yeah," He smiled terse.  The things they kept seeing... it would be impossible to accept if it wasn't for the fact that his best friend was physically transformed into America's greatest soldier against the Nazi's. Or Hydra... or whoever they were battling anymore. It didn't make the rest of it easier to figure out, but he had to at least accept it was true when Steve could do the things he could do now. The two of them were far from the boys that left for the war. They must both be thinking similarly because t hey fell into a silence as Steve stared blankly at the drawings Bucky had snuck in to look at. 

 

"Can I ask you a question?" Bucky asked, and Steve looked at him suddenly confidently.

 

"Of course,"  He said in a firm softness. 

 

"What's with the monkey?"  He tapped the papers Steve was holding at his leg. A bit of a blush rose to Steve's cheeks.

 

"It was before I joined the front. Back in the states. I suppose I just didn't see the point of what I was doing... I wasn't really fighting like I thought I should when I drew it. I was just... "

 

"I saw the picture,"  Bucky said with a slight smirk. He might as well not make Steve say aloud him parading around on stage. Steve groaned, moving to sit down on his cot.  "Dugan showed me, you sure never told me ya could sing!"

 

"It was so humiliating,"  Steve groaned. "Not close to what I signed up for. Being honest, Captain America was a bit of a joke."

 

He was moved by the disheartened look in Steve's eye and he glanced over a shoulder before her reached out to push the drawings down.

 

"What you're doing now? What you did-?"  He let out a heavy breath and pointed out past the tent's flap into the dark.  "You charged in there, alone, for **all of us** ."

 

"Well, actually, I went there for you," Steve admitted, shaking his head as if that changed what he'd done in some way. Bucky swallowed the emotions, clenching both his hands into fists as he pushed away the memories of being tortured by the sick pup scientists Germany had in there with them. But of course he did... Steve was a reckless punk as usual. But his hand to God, Steve saved his life. He owed Steve everything. Not for the first time, but he had thought it would be his last. Steve saved Bucky from that.

 

"Maybe. But you came out with all of us, when no one else woulda," He smiled brightly at his friend. "Not one of those generals would have risked their lives for one platoon. They damned us... and in one night you did more than I did in seven months in a trench.... what you're doing now, it actually  _ means _ something Steve.  _**This** _ is why men really go to war."  He added fiercely, looking at Steve in admiration. He really had saved their lives, he had given Bucky back a reason for all he'd just been through. James sure as hell wouldn't hear one word of self doubt from this idiot.

 

Steve reached up to rub the back of his neck, shrugging as he was clearly embarrassed. "It really wasn't..."

 

"But it was,"  Bucky cut him off, ending any argument he could have. Steve just smiled at him, an unspoken appreciation shared between the two.  "One things for sure,"  James said as he stood up and made his way to the tents entrance.

 

"What's that Buck?"  Steve asked, smiling at him. Bucky grinned back and held the flap up to the dark woods they were camping in. 

 

"Ya're sure not in some factory,"  He smirked as Steve grinned fully at him and laughed once. He nodded and they bid each other goodnight before Bucky walked out into the crisp air of Schwarzwald forest.


	7. Greenham Common Base

"Hey! Catch, punk." Steve barely had time to look up, but he managed to catch the apple that had been hurled his way.

 

"What's this for?" Steve ask quizzically. Bucky rolled his eyes. He respected Steve more than anyone, he was a great man... but he was sure stupid as hell!

 

"See, it's this thing called eating. You should try it sometimes. You know, instead of giving away your rations, idiot."

 

Steve had the decency to look bashful. What did he think nobody was going to notice? Well, fair, war didn't give a lot of time for figuring something simple like meal time, but Steve being Steve it wasn't a one time thing. He'd give a good portion of his allotted rations to someone else, acting like it was theirs. Well he wasn't getting past this somebody.

 

"Now Buck." 

 

"Uh uh. No crap Steve." Bucky said sternly. "That's twice this week."

 

They were trounsing all across the European theater trying to end this second Great War. He wasn't gonna watch Steve recklessly get hurt because he wasn't keeping up. He was huge now! It had to take a lot of food to keep him going, right? Well, it didn't matter either way, because he was going to stop being a stubborn ass about it. No discussion.   
  


"It's not like that now. I'm..."

 

"Same old Steve," Bucky snorted. "Getting sick because he gave his mother double the weekly rations."

 

Steve tossed the apple back and forth in his hands, smiling sadly. His mother had been sick, dying as it turned out... but Bucky had just given him some of his shares. Food was hard to come by. Steve better not try and give him any mouth about it. Bucky wasn't going to hear some dumb logic as why he could do with nothing. This whole super soldier thing didn't change anything, as far as Bucky was concerned. In fact he kind of hated how it made everyone treat his friend. It wasn't their faults, they didn't know Steven Grant Rogers from back home, no one did, but sometimes Bucky couldn't help but take it personal. People should have seen it long before he could lift three times his body weight.

 

 

"Maybe not so different..." Steve chuckled.

 

" Yeah, so eat the damn apple Rogers!" Bucky shoved friend's shoulder as he stepped past him, smirking when Mr. Hero started eating the fruit. It was a start at least.


	8. Stalags

Bucky stood watch by the gates, trying and failing to keep his eyes off the prisoners being escorted to relief vehicles. It was a clear win. No doubts about it. They went in looking for research plans left behind by Zola... and instead they found a POW camp. The Howling Commando's relieved the base of their previous tenants and these men could finally be able to go back home where they belonged. It was a win... but it didn't feel like one. There were at least a hundred men here, all half starved, all broken down, tortured... all of it would leave them changed forever. After they went to war to do the right thing... this was how it ended.

 

Their eyes, their gazes... bothered him a sight farther. He recognized the look, the foggy, glazed look of pure survival. That.... lost feeling he'd brushed with himself. Anger licked through him, steady and filled with a cold rage, like it did every time he thought of that stuff. It wasn't often that he did but sometimes he couldn't help but think back to the factory, to Zola and his goons. Those damn blue lights, locked behind his eyes still. He'd thought that he'd seen every hellish pit on the front... what a fool soldier he'd been, dismayed and bruised, but not understanding the sort of true suffering Bucky could see here. The kind he had only brushed dangerously with for however long it had been before he was rescued.

 

Once the 107th went to Azzano... Bucky had thought the war had changed him. It hadn't... not in a long shot. Not until then. When they were all mowed down, with no hope, by wondrous terrors.... the lucky survived... they said. Bucky hadn't been sure the dead weren't lucky until Steve saved him against every odd in the known world. Captured... forced to work for that damn factory, everything coated in that blue light. The doomed glow, some of the guys said... personally... Bucky had decided that hell's fire was just blue, and not red like they'd thought.

 

When you got too tired to work, or if you fought back when they threw you in the cage.... they took you to isolation. Where you found yourself newly acquainted with that devil's light... Bucky had been. He didn't think about the time he'd been strapped down to that table. He didn't want to. No... he suffered there, been tortured, pumped full of who the hell knew what, but he survived, clinging onto life just out of pure spite. Some basic will to not let go, even when that would be so easy.

 

Then Steve showed up.

 

He still didn't believe it, his sickly friend, living the good life in Brooklyn he'd thought, back home,  **safe** , with small comforts and lots of girls. But no, the punk showed up after all. Just like he promised. Changed... physically maybe, but it only made his dumb, reckless ass more capable of being an idiot. But damn... if Bucky didn't kneel down before bed, whatever bed happened to be, and thank God each day that Steve had shown up for him. Had taken him away from Arnim Zola and the devil's blue light.

 

He walked by Steve's side each day since then, fighting against those bastards! What they'd done to James, done to all four hundred of those men, those they killed in the field, what they were doing to the world... it light an anger in James. One that had always been there, burning low throughout his life. Now, with the Howling Commando's he felt it come out. He was darkened, but he wasn't out of the fight, his spirit wasn't squashed so easily, those nazi hydra bastards could be damned. He'd see each last one of them torn down before he'd rest. Rage might have pushed him at times, but more than that, Steve pushed him. He pushed everyone, just by being his own self, charging on through whatever came his way. Steve helped Bucky follow the right path after Hydra and the things they did... well it was for the better good.

 

Besides, it felt like he steadily could go back to the two of them in New York.... they were changed, both of them, and the world was hardening them... and yet, it couldn't change that much. They had each other to keep them each in check. To remind them. It couldn't change Steve, he realized, and it hadn't so far. Bucky knew that was just Steve's stubborn showing. Except, Bucky worried... this... this was maybe more hellish than what he'd seen in those Hydra factories... and Bucky remained ever stubborn himself that Steve wouldn't be changed by this either. Not Steve. Never Steve.

 

He wanted to believe his own thoughts, hopes. Problem was, Bucky could see the deadening weight on his friend's shoulders. It was clear as day as he came around from the last sweep with Jones. There was never a real win in this war, it took too damn much.  There was no one left to save and now they had to stand here, and think about how many other places just like this were filled with men not being saved. They had to think about the men here they didn't get to in time to save.

 

"Hey, I know that look," Bucky called to Steve, walking closer besides him. His voice was low, but had turned more strict addressing his friend. "These men are going home to their familes." He asurred him, but the look persisted. That look where Steve questioned himself was rare... and not many people looked long enough to see Steve doubting himself. Doubting what he could do, or what he didn't get to do. He thought he had to save the entire damn world, that this serum made that his job. It didn't, and while Bucky couldn't convince him out of that any more than he could convince him to leave the bullies be back then, or to stop signing up for the army, he wouldn't let Steve beat himself up. Bucky wouldn't let him go down that road. Not here... not with all these souls who had truly suffered on his back. As far as Buck was concerned, he was doing more good than half the armies in this damn war.

 

"You hear me Steve?" His voice turned commanding and he grabbed Steve's shoulder, looking past the hat he wore.

 

"Yeah but how many didn't Buck?" Steve sighed, stopping in their tracks. Bucky stood besides him, trying to fight his own thoughts... because Steve was right. Where he was wrong was that it wasn't his responsibility to save every soul fighting in this never ending war. "How many men are stuck like this while we're out chasing God knows what?"

 

"We can't think like that. They need you out there, those men walking out o' here? Them and the dozens still in this war need us," He said, giving his shoulder a shake, reminding him he wasn't alone too. He watched Steve's face to make sure he was really listening. "If we start thinking like that, no one gets saved, more of these Hydra weapons get out and there's nothing simple soldiers can do against them. You know that."

 

Steve nodded, but his frown didn't lesson. Bucky wasn't going to expect much more, but he wouldn't take less either. No one bothered with it, except that gal of his.  Everyone saw 'Captain America!' some propaganda Steve embraced so he'd be able to do some real good. Despite it all, all the horrors, despite Steve saving him more than he could count, as capable as he was, more than anyone... Bucky just never could see the good Captain. He just saw Steve, and he never saw him winning the fight like everyone did. Cheering Steve onward, Bucky could see the taxation it caused. He saw the way Steve's smile shrunk just a bit less with every passing 'victory' because Steve had always seen those in help... always found what needed to be done. Always found what was right... and even when he found people, saved them... Steve didn't really see that. All he saw was those he couldn't save. This stupid mantle, this experiment gone right... all it did was give his dumb friend Steve a 'good' reason to shove himself into every responsibility he could find. He took on the world, because they all imagined he could... and he decided he should.

 

Bucky knew one thing for certain, despite all his unimaginable strength and his recklessness... Steve was just a man. Now James couldn't do very much, wasn't as good as he'd thought he was, but he'd never stop trying to prevent Steve from chipping more of himself away than he already had. In this war... that wasn't possible... but Bucky could try to stop Steve from taking on too much onto his shoulders. Stop him from blaming himself as much as he could.

 

By some grace of God... Steve let him, most of the time. Maybe because they grew up together, maybe because once Steve was a sick little square who needed the help, needed to let Bucky do that... but he'd never stopped doing that. Steve never let him stop keeping going and Bucky was happy to return the favor. It was the best they could do in this hell. The two of them were going to make it through to the other side, though, Bucky would promise him that time and again if he needed reminding. Sometimes, Bucky needed the reminder too. They were going to, though, and they were going to win it, dammit.


	9. Białowieża Forest

_ "Move, move, move!" _

 

_ Everything was erupting around them. Bucky tumbled forward, as the pressure of a foot mine and its shower of dirt, tossed him off balance. He pumped the shotgun as he got his feet back underneath him, and at their breakneck pace.  _

 

_ “Sound off,” The sound of his voice crackling from the radio was faint under the shotgun’s discharge, shells hit the soft ground under their feet. They broke through the underbrush just as James thought it'd swallow them, he looked to his left to see Jim still with him. He’d worried the mine…  his eyes scanned further right, first to scout out Steve. He saw his brother in arms running down below along the rock self with Falsworth and Gabe. The other two spread left and right, moving forward as James slowed and took in his position.  _

 

_ He was well above where they'd meet lines, which was fine. He lowered into a crouch and pulled out his M1 and crawled forward to get into eyesight of the bunker. Jacques was moving into position, too and Jim moved east to meet with Steve. _

 

_ Bucky ended up shifting himself a few times as he searched for the most coverage. They would be easily outflanked here, despite their smaller pairs making a full crescent. He'd be here to make sure no one got killed without extra eyes with them. _

 

_ "Delta in position," he whispered into the radio he pulled from the pouch near his hip. He lowered his shoulders, and steadied his eyes in line of the unsuspecting bunker. _

 

_ "Alfa locked and loaded." Dugan called.  _

 

_ "Charlie in position." _

 

_ "Bravo is in place." _

 

_ "Then move in, lets give Hydra hell." _

 

_ "Roger that Steve...." _

 

_ He turned to see each of the boys through his scope once more, before waiting for Steve’s signal. His shield flew high, arching up towards the top of the metal plated doors, smashing the fog lights overhead and casting them into darkness as Jacques let the succession of explosives do their job. _

 

“Buck, hey Bucky.”

 

He startled mentally, turning finally to Steve calling his name. 

 

“Oh, sorry,” He said with a tight smile. “There was something in those beans.

 

“Of course,” Steve said thoughtfully. “It’s always the beans.”

 

“Well,” He said, pointing to the dying fire where they’d made camp. “Those tin cans ain’t fresh.”

 

Steve gave a small smile. “Fresher than the MRI’s.”

 

“There you go giving me nightmares,” He ribbed his friend, who lost his smile at the small joke. So, maybe it wasn’t hilarious, but he should expect Steve to take everything seriously. He always wore it heavy but after yesterday... yeah they got the base, captured Hydra scientists… but Morita nearly lost his life. It was a heavy reminder for them all, as their friend healed.

 

Steve rubbed a little harder at the black scorching on one edge of his shield, clearly his thoughts were in the same muddy place. It seemed like it was starting to come off too, but it was a hard reminder that if Steve hadn’t made an impossible dive in front of Jim he wouldn’t be with them.

 

Bucky didn’t know what else to do so he scooped up some of the soft dirt and took a few steps to kneel down and swipe it over the scorching.

 

“Hey, sort of the opposite effect, Buck,” Steve said amused.

 

“Yeah well, it’ll help pull it out,” He argued, snatching the boot shining rag from Steve and giving it a little elbow grease until they’d gotten the thing to shine again. Steve seemed a little calmer and he ran the rag across the whole thing one more time.

 

“Good as new,” He smirked, flipping the incredibly heavy metal over once and looking at the two straps.

 

"Here, I'll show you,” Steve  suddenly offered, flipping it up with practiced hands and tilting the back towards him.

 

"They’re just straps, Steve," He laughed, but he couldn't help but be interested as Steve  handed it over to him with a grin. It was just a disk with straps, but slipping it on his arm - wheew it was heavy- it slipped downward minimally.

 

"The straps are tighter when you hold it here," Steve explained as he adjusted it for him. Ah, there. Bucky straightened up, but even though he was holding it right now, it felt incredibly heavy. Like his arm was going to drop off his body by its weight. He could use it, he was a strong guy, but he couldn't imagine how Steve flung it around everywhere like he did or pulled it up so fast.

 

"It's a heavy weight," He commented, sliding it back off. He looked at him, again, silently wondering how this fantastical story could be true. Steve wasn't the kid he was when Bucky had left for the war...

 

"In more ways than one..." Steve muttered somberly. 

 

“You saved his life, Steve,” Bucky said sternly as he pulled the straps loose and set the heavy shield down.

 

“I got him into this,” Steve argued with a deep frown.

 

Bucky grimaced at that, and rolled it over in his head before shaking his head at his oldest friend. 

 

“You didn’t sign him up for this war, the United States of America did.” He said tersely. “He’da died in a fire fight, same as any of us could have. Chasing Hydra’s no more dangerous than being out in a battalion Steve.”

 

“I guess,” His friend conceded, but Bucky knew it’d take a while to sink in. Didn’t matter, Bucky would be here to make him remember it, too.

 


	10. Austrian Alps

_He reached out, stretched his arm out, and tried to still his shaking hand out of pure desperation. The wind whipped wildly, and he could barely hear the voice shouting his name. He could only focus on how Steve inched closer and closer._

 

_But he felt the metal wobble dangerously, and as he reached out for the next part of the bar, the wind knocked his grip off and his arm faltered, gripping nothing. He swung dangerously, and Bucky got a good view of the drop below, of the bottomless mountains covered in white._

 

_Bucky grasped for the bar again, his stomach leapt with fear as when he’d nudged body closer to Steve. Why did he grab that stupid shield, thinking he could stand the blow from that thing as easily as Steve did all the time. The metal wobbled again and he clenched his jaw. His friend fearlessly stretched out away from his own perch and Bucky looked over it once, clearly missing in length._

 

_The wind made it wobble more and more and more and Bucky edged closer to Steve, as close as he could. His body jumped, his mind blanking in fear as the metal pulled with a roaring creak from the side of the speeding train. He gasped in as it held and he saw Steve throw his arm out. He tried to still his legs swinging in the air, to no avail, and threw his arm out to Steve… it could reach, he just had to get ahold of Steve and he’d pull him in. It just needed to hold a second longer…. he stretched and stretched, leaning farthing on the metal bar…._

 

_Another lurch, and he could feel his whole body dropping, he threw himself forward in a desperate attempt to somehow get to Steve…. Then it was over. He saw his friend getting farther and farther, his body being enveloped by rushing air, it pressed at all sides and he could hear nothing else, not even his own screams._

 

_The panic took hold as he reached out for anything as he fell, fell to this wild, crushing feeling he knew was death…._

“Arrgh!” He roared, letting out the pain and confusion as he threw his fist into one of the men working on his side. The man's white coat flew outward as he went flying back into a wall, and slid down it. It brought no clarity, only another raspy voice.

 

_’Sergeant Barnes.’_

 

_‘The procedure has already started.’_

 

_‘You are to be the new fist of hydra…’_

 

_‘Put him on ice.’_

 

The words drew him in, ice… no, the cold. The aching chill.

 

The cold, the cold would creep through him, he wouldn’t be able to move… he could feel it all in his head, and that falling feeling, the doomed feeling, the sluggish pain of the cutting through the drugs, the heat around the place his arm should be… the digging of the metal and the instruments… the grip of the man’s neck beneath his fingers and Zola’s chuckle. The aching pain of the machine… the taste of burning rubber in his mouth….

 

He let out another loud shout and continued to pant heavily at the crushing feeling in his head. He turned and hit the man who had just finished stitching the knife wound and grabbed him by the throat. It took him a minute to register the action, and then threw him around in front of him. Clarity left again. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the painful flashes and the overwhelming memories that blurred with the room around him.


	11. Undisclosed Location

"Take a deep breath. Calm your mind." 

 

He snarled, the only thing he could do. No one would be calm if he got out of here! Not that he was making progress with how heavy his bindings were. Even this… metal  _ thing _ they'd attached to his arm didn't help…. But he didn't have an arm… Bucky felt sick when his head was suddenly thrust up to a projector by cold hands.

 

"You know what is best. What is best is you comply." 

 

Bucky could hear the machine clicking between slides automatically. They forced his eyes to take in the projected images, the same ones they'd been showing him for who knows how long. Bucky just kept his mental focus on the clicking instead of the images they were trying to get him to watch.

 

"Compliance will be rewarded."

 

_ '3.2.5.5.5.7.0.3.8…'  _ He chanted his military ID to each click to keep him distracted. It seemed to work when he'd been locked up originally… and it was no different now. Even if now… there wasn't an end in sight. He wasn't even sure this wasn't Hell. 

 

Bucky fell off the steam engine… he couldn't have lived… and everything was so hazy.. was it drugs… or instead had he gone to Hell? Had he done something deserving of being turned away at the gates?

 

His face stung as a rough slap registered through the  clicking. The burly man grabbed his face, squeezing tightly as he shook him.

 

"You are  **_happy_ ** to comply."

 

They slap must have gotten his adrenaline going over the drugs because he felt a rush of energy clear his head.

 

"Try it on someone else, ya Hydra-Nazi bastard," Bucky spat proudly, and spit at the red head. He was James Buchanon Barnes of the Howling Commandos! He followed Captain America into hell itself, and he refused to be any less for Steve. Even if he was dead. Even death wouldn't take who he was, Lucifer or Hydra or Nazi's, they could all try! 

 

Someone clocked him on the head, tossing him back into the fogginess.

 

"Restart the program, run it from the top!"

 

_ 'Good luck,' _ He thought cockily.

 

"That is enough Dr. Faustt," A heavily accented voice added to the mix, and it turned Bucky's gut. He knew that voice all too well. His left hand started burning, glancing down, he knew it wasn't. It wasn't there. It was a fake pain.. instead of his hand he only saw the silver digits Arnim Zola had someone attached to his shoulder. Like some sort of Frankenstein.

 

"Arnim, I don't like to be interrupted…"

 

"You are clearly failing, as I predicted."

 

"No one can resist my mental stipulations. It has been beneficial for Hydra ten times over!"

 

"Your week is up."

 

Right. That's what they'd said when he'd properly woken up. He remembered vaguely through the panic he'd felt then. Bucky felt sick all over again, remembering the freight car… the wild fear. The terror... his stomach rolled, he only remembered patches of being dragged from the ravine below the mountains, of Zola operating on him. 

 

God have Mercy… he was something out of a science fiction flick, or one of Howard Stark's raving ideas. He had to get outta here. He had to escape somehow. 

 

Except Steve thought he was dead… there was no rescue coming. He'd thought that before, though… dare he hope to see his unit barrell through the door guns blazing? He'd pay Dugan to hear him hollaring.

 

"Sergeant Barnes and I have history," The villain had rounded on him while he was lost in his own horror. Maybe this was just Hell. Then it wouldn't be real at least. "Don't we?" He glared at Zola as he chuckled close to Bucky's face. 

 

"History or not the Red Skull…" Faustt started.

 

"Shall  _ have _ his ironic weapon against Captain America."

 

Bucky sneered defiantly again. They thought they were taunting him but they didn't realize they were only helping Bucky's cause. No force on Earth… no force in Heaven or Hell could ever make him hurt Steve. So they   could try all the torture and brainwashing they'd like!

 

"I have been preparing for such a resistance. You were quite stubborn back in Kreisberg. Shall we see what it takes to break you Sergeant?"

 

Nothing he cooked up was going to change that no one could make Bucky Barnes into a turncoat. He'd die first. Gladly.

 

"You  _ first _ , roach," He snapped, yanking suddenly with impossible strength. The newly acquired metal appendage broke through the heavy chains wrapped around it. 

 

Seeing his chance he threw the sluggish metal thing out to catch Zola. The 'hand' closed too slowly around the air in front of the Hydra doctor. There was a shout in Swedish and then Bucky felt the sear of a needle plunging into his neck.

 

It only took a few seconds for him to fall half slumped over the chair to the ground, one air still tied to the chair. Bucky tried desperately to stay awake but the world was swiftly growing dim. He could only just see Zola crouch as best he could to look at him. Bucky tried to pick himself up off the ground but he couldn't get his body to respond.

 

"Ready ze chair," Zola hummed. "We shall see just how  _ far _ your will goes."

 

Bucky tried to say something, but it didn't make it passed a gurgle in his chest as he succumbed to the darkness.


	12. Undisclosed Location

His arrogance was gone. Never had he felt such all consuming pain. James hadn't known what was going to happen when the men pulled two iron paddles down and set them against his temples. He was sat in a chair, up on a platform. The wires hanging all around hadn't given him a hint of what was to come.

 

James didn't realize how it would feel to have every nerve in his body start to  **_burn_ ** . He could  _ feel _ the electricity travel down from his head and through his extremities, like a fire started and roared from his insides out. The pain inside his skull was rivaled only by the burning of hot metal against his shoulder, where they'd put this metal thing in place of his arm.

 

It ended at some point. It ended, only to start again… they’d wait.. A minute? An hour? He couldn’t tell. Finally though… it hadn’t started in enough time he could actually recognize his surroundings. Maybe when they were satisfied with their tests they stopped. Or, maybe it was because he'd lost all function or control over his body and everything that didn't sting was numb now.

 

He couldn't focus his thoughts long enough to identify that they were only checking his blood pressure and vitals. All he could find through the hazy pain was the smell of his own burning flesh. All he could feel was the numbness and the spasms that hit random parts of his body. He could only taste the foul stench around him in his throat.

 

For ten days it went this way.

 

He would have lost count except each day was marked with a word. Repeated over and over, explanation seared into his mind every time the current stopped and left his body twitching.

 

**Longing.**

 

"Are you not  _ longing _ for zis pain to end? For simpler times? It can be, it can all go away."

 

**Rusted.**

 

"Without Hydra you would be nothing. You would have frozen to death. Bled out in zat ravine and  _ rusted  _ away."

 

**Furnace.**

 

"You will be forged in fire, dear soldier. As zis arm is forged in a  _ furnace  _ of flames. Both the peak of Hydra engineering.”

 

**Daybreak.**

 

"Oh yes, zis will end. The dawn of a new world is coming, and so is it for you. Your past is dead, only Hydra's fist will remain by  _ daybreak _ !”

 

**Seventeen.**

 

"You were born in ze year Nineteen Hundred and  _ Seventeen _ . This will be much like a birth too."

 

**Benign.**

 

"Stop fighting, Soldier. Your efforts are  _ benign  _ to us, there is no more threat. Only our cause, your cause."

 

**Nine.**

 

" _ Nine _ heads, cut off one and two more shall take its place!'

 

**Homecoming.**

 

"This is your true purpose. Erase all else from your mind. This is your true purpose, you will serve, and finally there will be a  _ homecoming _ ."

 

**One.**

 

"You will be our first Soldier, the first  _ one  _ of Hydra's new order. Isn't it ironic?"

  
  


**Freight car.**

 

"You fell, do you remember still? Was it terrifying? With your exit from that  _ freight car _ of mine was the exit of your old self. Now you will be ready for compliance Soldier!"

  
Then... it all started again... and again... and again... until he lost track of the days. He lost track of everything in between each explanation and thee pain that came with it. It came again… and again, and again. Until he couldn’t feel, until he couldn’t breath, until he couldn’t _think_. There was nothing but his hoarse voice and those words roared over the burning until it stopped. Then it was only the numb and the words. Whichever… there were always those words.


	13. Undisclosed Location

He could only see the lamp... swinging back and forth. It was a simple movement, it was almost calming to focus on that instead of his body. The relief didn’t stay… someone moved it, they fixed the loose screw. Now the light shone fully into his face… it hurt his exhausted eyes, and he felt too hot. It made him remember the deep aching. He was so tired... but when he wasn’t here, he was in the chair...

Hadn’t he come back from that? He didn’t remember getting here, sometimes that happened. A different light broke through the usual one. From somewhere to his left, he couldn’t move his head to look just now. It let Bucky suddenly see that he was lying on his back, his chest was strapped down to this table. Boots clattered noisily, unlike what he was used to and two men showed up in his peripheral vision. It hurt to look that way, though and he returned his gaze to the light. Until one blocked it out, looking down at him. Bucky stared up blankly.

No… he did recognize their coats. They set up the paddles. No, no… it was too soon for this yet…  
Hadn’t they just stopped? Longing! His body jumped slightly at the sudden shout in the back of his mind. 

"Kapitän Amerika, ja," One said, and even far away in a language he had no idea what it meant but he picked up the name. Steve? Yeah… Steve. He let his eyes slid closed. Steve… 

They… they were trying to… stop Zola… right. Bucky remembered now, in the Alps. He was here now… because… he searched for the idea lingering on the outskirts of his exhausted mind. He fell. That’s what happened…

Wait why were talking about Steve? What were they saying? He heard them say Captain America, they had a newspaper.... what were they talking about? Steve was always in the newspapers, but why were they grinning? One gestured to him and he noticed rather than felt the second man shift the metal abomination attached to his shoulder.

Yeah… that was right. They wanted him to turn, to comply. Steve… it’d been so long since he’d seen his friend. Surely they should have found him by now… if they were looking. They weren’t, though, were they? Bucky groaned around his raw throat. 

No, it didn’t matter. He wouldn't turn, even if he was doomed here forever. He didn't care what they would keep doing to him. Bucky would never be a tool for Hydra, no matter how hard it was to stay awake... no matter what Zola did to him, he'd hang on… 

‘Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the107th regiment… 325557038… Howling Commando… Brooklyn, N.Y. …. ’

He chanted the information that was on his dog tags in his mind all the way to the chair. He used to do that, but he’d forgotten to keep it up. Well, they couldn’t stop that, could they? Still, his breathing picked up as the clamps screwed down around his arms and the paddles were positioned around his head and James’ heart beat sped up drastically. 

Again and again he felt pain he’d never known, he passed out most of the time. His body couldn’t handle the sort of pain that came from the electricity charging through every muscle.

Again and again… and his chant lost bits and bits each time, ”Longing!” ‘James…’ “Rusted!” ‘Commando…’ “Furnace!” ‘3255……’ “Daybreak!” ‘Steve…'

He stayed awake the next time they did it, and he almost wished his body had passed out. 

“James…’ “Seventeen!” ‘3255….’ “Benign!” … ’S…’ “Nine!” ‘S…’” “Homecoming!”…. ‘Steve…’  
The lights came in and out again, suddenly bright and then rushing to dimness.

“One!” ‘3255….’ “Freight Car!” ‘3255….’

“Longing!” ‘3255….’

“Rusted!” ‘32…. Steve.’

“Furnace!” ‘… S… S… 32…’

“Daybreak!” ‘… 55…’

“Seventeen!” ‘5….’

The longer it went on the more he couldn’t think and as it shut off all he could focus on was his heavy breathes and the twitching in his muscles. 

He tried to remember his mantra… so he could tune out the words. The same exact thing every day, minute after minute. If it wasn’t the electricity it was those words. At some point someone new said it, said them in another language… but it was the same. He knew. 

He tried to tune out what he knew they wanted him to say… over and over they kept shouting it in his ear and he couldn’t hardly remember his own name... no someone else's... it was lost over the shouts that made his already tender head ache all the more.

He stayed awake the next time too, and this time, his mantra and the words were gone. There was nothing but pain, until the words came… then, at the last word... it was over. It happened again and again, the pain from the chair and then the last word… and the pain stopped. 

The old soldier forgot there ever had been other words than the ones he heard after. 

“We can’t do it a third time today Zola, it will cause long term brain damage.”

“Hush General, let us see how it went zis time,” Zola waved a hand out towards the man, who began to repeat the conditioning words they’d been drilling into the American for the last month. They all waited around the man strapped to the metal chair. “General? Ze sequence.”

“Тоска. Ржавые. Печи. Рассвете. Семнадцать. Доброкачественные. Девять. вернуться домой. Одной. Грузовой автомобиль.”

“Солдат?” (Soldier?) The Russian general asked once again. Finally... the man once known as Bucky, the Allied forces favorite sidekick, answered as he should.

“Готовы к соблюдению.” (Ready to comply.)


	14. George Washington High School; Washington Heights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Starting this chapter the shorts will be out of order and won't follow any certain path. Thanks!

Bucky moved from foot to foot waiting for the ball to swing around his way. He watched it passing Steve as he knocked it further left and it picked up speed. His eyes followed closely until it came within arm's distance. The fourteen year old waited a second longer until it was in better range and hit its right side, sending it speeding back around the pole. Steve jumped back and James grinned. "Point two, Rogers," He called playfully.

 

"We'll see about the next one Bucky," Steve said, determination pulling at his friend's face. Safe to say, it was three nothing a minute later! Bucky grin grew and he switched from foot to foot to keep ready, nailing it directly towards Steve and…

 

“Hey watch it!” He called, too late, as Steve got nailed in the shoulder by the ball. He landed on the ground with an ‘oof’. He came around to his friends side with a frown.

 

“What gives Steve!” He complained, holding an arm out for Steve to grasp so he could pull the smaller boy up. Steve was still ignoring him though!

 

"I just don't believe it...."

 

He frowned as Steve's shoulder dropped. Had he hurt him real bad with the ball? No… that didn’t seem like it, his face just looked defeated. Bucky followed his friend’s gaze and found the problem. Oh… that, that would distract him.

 

"Lucy's one of those dames, you can't helpem." He sighed, looking over at her and Doug kissing on the swings.

 

"But why?" His friend turned to face him, his expression all twisted up in shock and upset. "After the way he treated her last week?"

 

"Not everyone's like you," Bucky said simply, clapping a hand over his opposite shoulder. Doug had slapped her last week and Steve got involved and got his ass handed to him for trying to stick up to the football player. Bucky had gone over and tried to help him up but.... well he was already slapped up, what could he do then? Nothing but get them all to back off, and he’d just shown up too late. "Who knows why dames stick with some guys."

 

He tried to console him and Steve nodded, turning back to their abandoned game. Bucky was trying to think of something to cheer him up when another voice called from their right. Someone else must have seen Steve hitting the ground and paid attention.

 

"Looks like you got whupped for nothing huh Rogers."

 

His new found friend dropped his head and something hardened in his own chest. What the hell anyways, huh? This kid saw some girl getting slapped and stuck up for her, and then he got his ass kicked for it. Sure, that was sort of fair game, but no one did that sort of thing Steve did. It was admirable to have tried. No, actually it still was... but it was over! There was no real reason for Doug's pal here to try and start something up again unless they thought they'd make this a regular thing for Steve....

 

"Hey mind your own fuckin’ business," Bucky snapped, turning towards the guy. He’d picked up a few more colorful curses from the soldier’s not paying attention in the  barracks he’d grown up in. The other kid made a face, but Bucky couldn’t concentrate. Anger built up and none of the techniques to cool himself down the geezers behind the desks at the base taught him were working. It just wasn’t right! It wasn’t fair to make Steve pay for helping someone, twice. 

 

This wise guy went and opened his mouth again and he couldn't ignore the jaded, hurt look on Steve's face any longer…!

 

"Yeah and wha-"

 

Bucky didn't give him time to worry about finishing his stupid fucking question, instead he lurched forward and hurled his fist into his face. Pain laced through his knuckles as he collided hard with the other boy's cheekbone. He hardly noticed it over the adrenaline. The hit tossed the other boy into the dirt, a split in his cheek starting to bleed.

 

"Bucky!"

 

"What m'I gonna do bout it huh?" He grabbed the boy up off the ground by his shirt and shook him as he spoke, finishing his sentence for him.

 

"To hell.."

He drew his arm back and slugged him again, shutting him up. He sneered down at the bully and dropped on his knees over him to hit him harder. Again and again his fist swung higher and higher, as anger bubbled up and pooled out. Flesh pounding over flesh three more times before he dropped him on the ground, hearing Lucy and Doug shouting for help for their friend whose ass he was whupping.

 

"Buck, it's not worth it!"

 

Steve was grabbing his shoulder and he snarled before he let himself be tugged away. 

 

"Fucking fat head," He spit as he stood up, stepping over the stupid guy. 

 

That's what he got for rubbing it in his face when the world was already kicking Steve! They weren't going to make it a regular thing, because he'd beat the shitter out of them each time they tried! Steve didn't deserve that for trying to help a stupid dame who was getting hit by a much larger guy. But hell, Steve was probably smaller than Lucy! That hadn't even mattered to that lot... it was probably why they were going to try to keep picking on him. 

 

Well, they could try coming for Steve again. Bucky was bigger, and angrier, than both Doug and Francis. He wished ‘em luck!


	15. New York City

“Jimmy!” He groaned and tucked his head under the pillow, clamping his left arm down over it. He must have laid on it, though, because it was tingling. Besides he knew better, and was right to hold it against him because he felt the insistent tugging on it with another chorus of  “Jimmy!”

 

“G’away,”  James grumbled from under his protection from the sunlight that shone through the closed window. Once the light got in his eyes, he would never get back to sleep.

 

“Oh… come on, James, gettup already.”

 

“Oof!”  He gasped, bucking up as he felt a sudden weight drop down on his stomach. “ Rebecca!”  He snapped, the pillow flinging across the floor as the little girl laughed shortly. She’d run and dropped all her weight on him before scrambling away to safety. He flung both arms out to grab ahold of her, but missed.  “What did ya do that for!”  He said, rubbing his stomach.

 

“Well, you woke up, didn’t you?”

 

“I should go back to bed to spite ya.”

 

“Auntie left you in charge,”  His younger sister declared with hands on her hips. He rolled his eyes.  “I’m hungry.”

 

“You know how to fix yourself breakfast,”  He scoffed and buried his shoulders back down under the thin quilt. It was getting colder in the mornings now, just another good reason to sleep later on a Saturday.

 

“Well the girls might wake up.”

 

“They always sleep in,” He said pointedly.

 

“Well why do you need to?”

 

“I was up late,”  He said nonchalantly, turning back to look at her.

 

“You mean you were out all night with your  new _friend_.”

 

“His name is Steve, and it was my idea, not his,”  James defended, finally sitting up in bed. Steve was a little better at following the rules than him but just barely, and only when it suited him James was starting to learn. He was a good guy though, nice to talk with. “ Out with it Becca,”  He insisted, sitting up again and fixing her with a stern look.  “What’s the real reason?”

 

She looked up at him with matching pale blue eyes, small hands fidgeting suddenly and James’ gaze softened.  “I’m scared James…”

 

“O’ what?”  He asked, his voice dropping softer as he flung his legs over the side of his cot and leaned his elbows on his knees.

 

“Everything’s so different here…. It’s hard...”

 

“Hard how?”  He encouraged, patting the bit of bed next to him. Becca came over and scrambled up onto the bed. So this was about the move still, then? It had only been a couple of months, but he’d thought they were all adjusting pretty well. Losing Pops was… almost impossible, he knew that. It was for him, he’d gotten in a lot since then, getting kicked off the base. Somehow he thought they'd let him stay. The military was all he had ever known. Now both Pops and his home was gone. There was no looking back on it, though. They were in New York now, with their Aunt. He was almost thirteen, though, and Becca was still just a little kid. She wasn’t probably old enough to really lose Mama in the right way…. But Pops she was.

 

He glanced down at his sister, wrapping an arm around her little shoulder’s softly. She kept her gaze fixed down on her hands before she started to speak again.

 

“I don’ want to leave you again… I like Auntie Ida it’s just… well the girls didn’ like it when you stayed back in Jersey…”

 

James softened at her admission and frowned, tugging the little girl into a hug. She was really that upset over it? He honestly hadn’t thought about her minding it so much. He knew why she was bringing it up, though, but it was already done and it was a good opportunity for her.

 

“Boarding school up in Albany is great, Becca, ya said you liked it, didn’ you?”

 

“I do,” She said, her voice squeaked and he leaned down to realize she was crying slowly. “I jus’... I just… I don’t want to lose you too Jimmy!” She declared, throwing herself around his middle and burying her head into his stomach. James frowned, reaching down to run his hand over her head to calm her down. Her little sobs slowed down after a moment and he coaxed her to stop hiding her face.

 

“Hey, Rebbeca, I’m serious now, lookat me,” He said firmly, waiting until she looked up, rubbing at the corner of her eyes. “Now you listen here, I ain’t never going to leave you, okay?”

 

She smiled a little but then a frown dropped again. “Poppa used to say that too…”

 

“Yeah but Poppa was in the military, sis, it wasn’ his fault what happened.”

 

“I know!” She cried indignantly.

 

“Come on now, I’m the toughest guy you know!” He declared triumphantly, boxing his arms out, which managed to make her hiccup a giggle. 

 

“You’re a troublemaker you mean,” She grinned.

 

“Maybe… but I can take care of myself,” He promised squeezing her hand. “So you’re not goin’ to get rid of me, ever!” He said cheerfully, before he stood up and stretched. "Well now that you went and got me up, I’m hungry too,” James said and nodded towards the door. He'd fix them both some ferina.Becca smiled and hopped off the bed. Just as they got to the doorway, she tackled him and hugged him tightly.

 

“I love you James,” She squeezed harder and he reached down to rub her back.

 

“Love you too Becca.”

 


End file.
